Dust Sky
by PlanetOfTheWeepingWillow
Summary: Alfred finds Antonio beat up, laying out under a merciless western sun. Little did he know that he had found a great friend, and a great tragedy.
1. Chapter 1

Alfred stared across the horizon, tipping his hat forwards. The sunny expanse of dry prairie and desert as far as the eye can see hardly daunted him. A large bird swooped overhead, blocking out some light. Something glimmered in the far-distant corner, barely visibly over the fold of the land. Alfred wiped his hands on his white cotton work shirt, pulling on some leather gloves. He flexed his fingers and strutted forwards.

These days he slouched. His shoulders pushed forwards and his head was held high. He used to stand tall and proud, but he had nothing left to be proud of. He spat at the ground, fingering the pistol in his belt. If need be, but we won't take it out if there ain't no need, boy.

Alfred approached the glimmering object and found a dagger. His eyes widened and he stepped back, his hands out and flexing, a scowl plastered across his face.

A dead man was sprawled across the ground. Blood everywhere. Dark liquid trickled out of the man's shoulder wound. Alfred bent to his knee, examining more closely. He didn't need to touch anything if he didn't need to. They'd find his fingerprints and hunt him down like hound dogs.

The man must have once been dressed in dazzling attired, with gilded plaits and lapels. But now he was wearing only shreds. What were once red pants now hung in strips down his feet. He had no shirt to speak off. His already tan back had an irritated red tinge. Alfred prodded the man's shoulder wound, and he groaned.

So he wasn't dead after all.

_"Dios…"_

Alfred frowned. "English?"

_"D-dios…"_

Alfred grunted and grabbed the man gently, flipping him over. He lowered his visor, the sun was getting real harsh. 'twas nearly sharp enough to cut his eyes and render him blind.

The man opened his chapped lips, more blood oozing from there. His smoke-colored eyes searched for his savior. His brown hair stuck to his face with sweat and blood. Alfred grunted again, heaving the man up and slinging him over his shoulders. His muscles flexed and gleamed. Dark stains traveled his veins as though it was his own but it was coming from the stranger in a steady trickle. It was strange, Alfred thought as he shifted the man, so now he carried him like a man would carry his happy bride. The man clung to Alfred's shirt, calloused fingers and broken nails digging in, grazing his skin. The man's head tilted back, bobbing with the rough terrain.

The man wasn't too old, Alfred realized, he was no older than he.

It was strange, Alfred thought again, that he was carrying a wounded man—a soldier perhaps—in his arms like a hero from a mythological epic. It felt so empowering that Alfred briefly fancied himself entering a foreign town and being praised like a great big hero, calling to their wounded man, a favorite among the folks, and showering Alfred in money and gold.

But that wouldn't happen. Alfred's face was known everywhere.

Alfred set down the stranger inside his tent and picked up a jug of dusty water. He wet a shabby towel and wiped away the blood, laying the man on his side to inspect the wound. It wasn't too deep, actually, it was a cut with the dagger. There was not a sign of bone or deeper flesh harmed. The blood on the stranger's mouth was from a broken nose. Good, Alfred thought, he didn't want to send the man into a surgery. He'd be caught for sure. Caught and bound up, any good deeds spat on and coated with the grimy layer of the past.

"Name?" Alfred asked.

"Eh?"

"Name, ya got a name?"

"S—Yes, Antonio," the man smiled, showing off two missing front teeth. Alfred dug around for something to eat. He found a strip of dried meat and handed it to Antonio, who savagely tore at it like a man who hadn't seen water or food in ages.

"So you speak English?" Alfred nodded, pulling off his hat, allowing his hair to fall into his face. It was dirty, speckled with soil and earth, but still somehow retained its golden color.

"Of course," Antonio had a thick Spanish accent, "I have been here for years."

"What happened?" Alfred said, gesturing to the wound he had bandaged up.

"I got into a fight with people I thought I could trust."

"That makes both of us."

Antonio licked his lips and sipped from the cup Alfred had given him.

"You're face, it's quite familiar."

Alfred shrugged, picking up a cigarette and lighting it. "I'm pretty well known."

"But you don't seem to tie to a good feeling. Are you an outlaw? A bandit?"

"I was. It's a hell of a long story, pal, and I got no time to tell it. You cans stay in here, I gotta go get some water. You've built yourself up a mighty thirst, and I don't exactly got water at the touch of a finger." He picked up the jug and left without another word, leaving behind the smell of cigarette smoke and a natural musk that wasn't all too unpleasant.

Antonio waited patiently for an hour, judging by how the sun; burning hard and clear, had slid down. It threw a pale golden light into the tent, making it hotter. Antonio pursed his lips and looked around him. He still had only the strip of his pants and a nasty sunburn.

A tiny, curled fragment of paper peeked out beneath a heavy book. Antonio recognized the parchment and picked it up. The coarse paper and sepia colors brought back fond memories. On the front was a picture of Alfred, a fire in his eyes and a gleam in his teeth. He had a fine price over his head, and he was wanted dead or alive, but preferably dead because he was cooking up a storm. Apparently bad luck followed him like a shadow. Antonio learned more about him from the other flyers, describing the numerous crimes and larceny that man had committed. Antonio smirked and tucked away the papers.

A crook, was he? Antonio said to himself, "that makes both of us." He trusted Alfred more, then. His good deeds were purely good and he didn't horse around.

Horse

Antonio pulled at the lip of the tent, peering out to see if Alfred had one. Sure enough, he did. It was a handsome stallion, shaking his head and tossing its main, dipping its head into a small bucket to lap up water. Alfred approached closer, running his hand down the stallion's neck, pouring water from another bucket into the horse's own. Alfred turned and spotted Antonio. He didn't smile. He picked up a jug and poured water into that, creeping into his own tent. He faced Antonio, frowning.

"You saw, didn't ya?"

"Yes."

"Well?"

"They don't even have a nickname for you. I'm called the Gilded Spaniard."

"They do have a nickname, Gilded, its_ Freedom_."

"Freedom?" Antonio started to laugh at the absurdity.

"Yeah, you realize what I am? I'm free. Not just some patriotic crap, but really free. I'm out here on my own, no binds to hold me down, no chains to keep me from going where I want. A real Wild Horse."

Antonio nodded pensively.

"You know," Alfred said, "There are some ideas that are so beautiful, and because of that they've been passed around and dirtied by so many hand prints. So now it ain't so pretty. It's simple stuff, usually. Like the beauty of the moon or sun or freedom."

"Poisoned by the mob?"

"Yes."

"I see,"

Alfred dug around a large box, trying to scrape up something to eat.

"Damn, I ain't got nothin' but dry meat and stale bread."

"I'm fine with anything."

Alfred grinned that smile that dropped the handsome price on his head.

"I can tell."

"How?"

"I just can."


	2. Chapter 2

2

"We need a horse."

"We got a horse."

"Not for me, for you."

Antonio stared at Alfred, scratching his chest. Alfred loaned him clothing the previous night and they caused a cluster of itches along his body. He leaned on one foot.

"Why?"

Alfred grunted and flung himself on his stallion. He placed his hands gentle on the horse's neck and squeezed its flanks with his thighs. He used no saddle. Antonio stepped back, watching in confusion.

"Oh I get it," Alfred grinned, "You can't ride, can you?"

"I can't ride without a saddle."

"'Course, you don't know the real way, do you? It ain't in the saddle, I'll tell you that." He flicked the reins and the horse galloped forward, tossing behind it the dry land and hurtling towards the distant mountains. Alfred turned back, his horse stopping smoothly. He slid off. "Get on, I'll teach ya."

"Who taught you to do that?" Antonio asked, not mounting.

Alfred simply smiled and helped Antonio up. "Squeeze real tight and don't grab the mane."

"I…" Antonio began to object but Alfred slapped the horse's rear flank and sent him galloping off. Antonio tried to hold on but was tossed off. He flopped on the ground and rolled off, spitting dust and wiping the cut on his chin. The horse stopped at Alfred's beck. He picked up Antonio, sighing.

"Real sorry, you don't look much better than yesterday. Too bad you'll have to wait vefore you get to wash up."

"I shoulda stayed on longer."

"Yes, you should've."

Antonio rose to his feet, spitting out dirt. The sun was perched directly above them, shooting their shadows straight down. The chalky grasses at their feet bit into their pants with no wind to guide them. The day would be long and hot.

"We should get going," Alfred said, leading them back to his camp.

"Get going where?"

"A journey. What? You think I'm gonna stay here like some lonesome widow?"

"Where? I didn't ask why or what."

Alfred slung a satchel over his shoulder and tilted his visor, allowing the shadows to consume his features.

Antonio mimicked it with his own hat, for the sun was getting mighty stingy.

"No particular destination, just wherever the wind takes us." He began placing objects he needed into the satchel. He picked up a slick gun and stuck it in its holster.

Antonio nodded, "And you won't take the tent?"

"It ain't mine." Alfred responded casually, sticking a long straw of wheat in his teeth and chewing it. He'd rather do that than smoke.

"It ain't?"

"'Course. It's some folks who had to make a run for it, probably 'cause they saw me comin' up over the hills. They had all those papers you fancied sneaking a look at last night. Besides, who knows who would use this next? It's pretty useful." He finished packing and mounted his horse again. He patted the space behind him. "Get on."

Antonio timidly climbed up, accidentally poking the horse and causing it to jerk away. "Easy boy."

"Girl."

"What?"

"The horse's a girl, South Wind."

"Ah, easy Senorita South Wind," he said, patting her side and sitting behind Alfred.

"Grab my back,"

Antonio looped his arms around Alfred's torso.

"Ain't this a strange sight."

"What? Two men riding a horse together?"

"No, two outlaws riding a horse together."

Alfred chuckled and once he was sure Antonio would not fly off, he started forwards. The horse pushed forward, happy to move her legs again. Alfred guided her smoothly towards the mountains. They jutted into the sky, green tops and red rock.

Antonio had to grip tighter, feeling his rump start to shimmy backwards off the horse. He pushed forwards and buried his face in Alfred's back, feeling soreness ignite in his legs and arms.

Alfred didn't budge, he only held tighter and watched the piles of earth come closer and closer. The fresh air bit at him. His hat flew back, missing Antonio's head just barely, and clinging on with a thread of rope round Alfred's neck. The joy of the ride surged through his brain and he was tempted to raise his hands, shout something loud and clear, who cares what it was, and feeling freedom take flight.

A hawk glided over head, zipping past in the clear blue sky, a piece of prey dangling from its talons. A snake gleamed briefly in the distance, before pushing back into the greenery. Eventually, they reached the base of the mountains. Antonio looked up, his arms shaking.

"Are we there?"

Alfred shook his head, pushing his hat back on. He felt the start of sunburn tickling the nape of his neck.

"Hardly close. But South Wind is real tired so we're slowing to a nice, even trot, all the way up to that stream, see it?" He pointed to the ribbon of sparking blue water coiling around the hills below a light descent. South Wind continued, her thick muscles moving lithely.

The mountains rose up on either side of them, red and dusty. Huge rocks stuck out, often causing Alfred and Antonio to duck their heads. The stopped at the stream, sliding off South Wind. She dipped her head into the pool.

Antonio took another end and splashed water across his face, washing the cut along his chin. Alfred stood still, clambering up a large boulder, and observing the scenery. Antonio sat down, dipping his feet in, his shoes at his side. His thigh muscles were throbbing. The water was clear, each little and big fish below visible flashing through. The rocks at the bottom were pale green. Antonio reached in and found them to appear far deeper than they appeared.

"We're gonna have to cut our stay short, Tony." Alfred said, a frown etched across his face.


End file.
